A thorn by any other name would hurt just as deep, or whatever the saying is.
~~~
Greg Lestrade would say Sherlock Holmes was always the smartest in the room. Whether at 221B or Scotland Yard, no ordinary person ever came close to compete with his...
The suit had a fantasy sense to it, and the detailing had you fawning over it like a child in a candy store. While red wasn't the overarching colour, there was a decent amount to let it shine through.
A deep crimson coat was in place of a suit jacket, the vest matching it perfectly with black thorny roses 'growing' from the hems. The pants were a simple black, made of a material a lot stretchier than you were used to, while the belt to match it was equipped with vial holders for your poison.
It was perfect but made even better as the button-up shirt had the most subtle, perfectly shaped bell sleeves, which seamlessly matched the gloves that were tailored to you as well. As a glamorous extra, a leather thigh-sheath was made for a dagger you were yet to receive.
The tailor had outdone himself once again, and apparently so had Jim's personal weapon dealer.
"You know I don't use knives," you fit it all on, looking at the sheath.
"Not usually, but you're pretty skilled with them," Jim takes a wooden box from Seb. The gold clasp unlocked, and a velvet cushion held a red and black dagger. It was sleek and the perfect size, balanced perfectly with rose and thorn detailing to bring it all together.
"Jim... this is beautiful," you take it to examine the make. "Thank you," quickly, you took him into a hug, which was a rarity, to say the least.
"You're welcome," he eventually gives in to the hug and gives a decent squeeze before pushing you away. "Anyways, enough sentiment."
"Always the sweetest," you ruffle his hair just in time before running off to change before he could shoot you.
"She's going to be the death of me," Jim had predictably taken out his gun, which he lowered.
"Maybe," Seb chuckles, getting a call and excusing himself.
~~~
The night had come around almost within seconds. With business dealings being finalised for the final paperwork to present for Rockwell, you forgot exactly how intense these things could be.
Without sufficient profits, you could be executed immediately, and your empire passed to the remaining members of the table. Not to mention the severe lack of security, these were world-despised criminals who had backstabbing as their middle name.
Being on high alert was a priority, or as simple as saying the wrong word could have you end up in a gutter out back. Most of the time, these acts were done by others in the club, but it didn't stop people from attempting to take you down.
They have tried and failed, but it kept the adrenaline going throughout the night.
So here you were with a mask over half of your face, hand gripping the gun in your coat. "Madam. Sir," the doorman greeted you and Jim instantly, ignoring others waiting in line before saluting Seb. "Mr Rockwell has saved two seats by his side for you both,"
"Perfect," you smile under your mask and walk in, ignoring the peering eyes of curious wannabes. It was what you would expect from a man whose entire criminal career was funded by his father's money. Velvet couches and objects were all encased in glass with a large amount of security, making sure there was no attempt to steal these stolen artefacts. Liquor never ran dry, and music never failed to blast like a concert as people partied on the flashing dance floor, fights breaking out in corners.
Luckily, the lounge was much cleaner and designed more elegantly. Situated at the corner of the large club, it was opposite the bar, which was only visible through curtains that were pulled open. Bulletproof glass granted a view to the right of the meeting room. More guards lined up in case of any attempts at shooting the glass.
While it would be useless, people were also morons.
So here you were, examining the room of people you either hated or willingly tolerated. Rockwell had a seat on either side of him saved for you and Jim, which was the special treatment you and him only ever received.
"Ah, my two favourites," Rockwell stands up. Another thing to note was the blatant honesty on who of the meeting you liked and disliked. In this case, it grew into a tension of jealousy and envy. But where was the fun without it? "It's so nice to see you again, Thorn,"
"Always a pleasure, Rockwell," you put your knuckles to him which he takes and kisses before pulling out your chair and allowing your coat to fall while your mask was pulled off. You did this often; your back always turned to the glass, which allowed your anonymity to stick while you were comfortable in the tense room. "Shall we?"
"We shall," he claps his hands, which causes the guards to close the main door but keep the glass view open. "I would like to start by welcoming Thorn back; what an honour to have you back in London,"
"Enough sucking her dick, Rockwell," Julian Moreau, one of the biggest names in France, scoffs at Rockwell's introduction, which causes Madam Liu to laugh. While she was fluent in every language possible, she often stayed silent, letting her right-hand woman speak on her behalf.
She leans to her and whispers a few words, which causes Fang to speak up, "Madam Liu would like to remind Mr Moreau that he should not let his jealous tendencies dictate his words,"
"Ça me saoûle," he grumbles before letting the meeting continue.
Rockwell soon continues, "I would also like to congratulate Mr. Kelly on his recent shipments. Very impressive, and I'm sure Samuel can express his thanks more personally,"
"Not a worry, mate," Lachlan Kelly, the Australian branch of the table, fist bumps Samuel, who sits next to him. Samuel Anderson was part of the American branch, fairly young, but he did inherit an empire he built with his Kate father since he was a child. You could call him the baby of the group, but that may end up with you missing a leg.
"Always got my back," Sam wraps an arm around Lachlan, who ruffles his hair. Both men act more like brothers than business partners.
If this industry had any loyalty, you and Jim would be a first thought if not for these two. As well as the fact these two were fairly popular on Instagram. You and Jim weren't the kind to enjoy posting trips to Miami or Sydney.
"Now, to the real business," he held his hand out, which made a woman walk up to him, her perfume drowning out even the smell of vomit from a thick wool carpet. "Thank you, Lucille," Rockwell rolls his eyes.
"You're welcome," she gives a sickeningly sweet smile, standing between you and her brother. She blocks your view of the papers, almost bumping her hip against you.
This was going to be fun.
~~~
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
